Quiet, Cosy, Maddening
by esuterutomoru
Summary: GinStarrk. There's that silver-haired man living in the apartment building next to his that he just can't wrap his mind around. Bored with life in general, he catches himself watching this person, confused and yet curious about his eccentric ways. Will a chance meeting change anything? Namechange due to the AU, slice of life, madness later on. Rated it high because... well, Gin.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own BLEACH or any of its characters.  
All places mentioned in the story are imaginary, though it is set generally in Japan. However, considering I have never once been to Japan if there's something out of line or weird, I apologize in advance. *bows*

**A/N: **Sorry for the short-ish first chapter, I'm still wondering if this idea is actually worth being worked on or not.

_**Quiet, Cosy, Maddening**_

Chapter 1

Tsuyosa Kiyoshi was renting an apartment on the top floor of a building in Kawarimi Street, Kizuna, Japan. He lived alone there, even at thirty-five and often the people at his workplace teased him about getting a wife already. He simply let those comments slip past his ears. It's not like a woman - or anyone at that - would want to live with him there and he didn't really make enough money for a bigger place. The flat was very small and bleak, consisted of two rooms: a bathroom and a bedroom/livingroom/kitchen/whatever. Kiyoshi didn't mind because he didn't need more to be satisfied than a comfortable futon and a microwave oven where he could heat his premade lunches.

Kiyoshi wasn't always known by that name, though. In his early twenties when he had moved to the States, he picked up the stage-name Coyote Starrk in hopes of being more popular with the audience. Besides, he was sick of the awful intonation most Americans kept putting into his Japanese name every time they tried to say it. Not that it was their fault - the two languages were just far too different, he knew - but it still inevitably irritated him and drove him all the more to find a name easier to pronounce.

But Coyote Starrk never got too far in the end. After seven years of unsuccessful attempts at becoming famous and celebrated in the music industry, he had given up - seven was a charm, and it just didn't work out, he finally decided - and moved back to his homelands. Returning to Japan could have been almost refreshing or even a chance for a big new start, except this was a man with his dreams crushed scurrying back. Like a wolf bitten bloody by the new alpha fleeing the pack. He was nowhere near his old self, the young man chasing a teenage dream. And he figured that was how it had to be. He had grown up, like everyone else.

So now he lived in this snug little place, worked at the cosy bar just a block down and owed nothing precious but an old electric Gibson tucked into his wardrobe in its case. He had picked the bar job because over the years of unhappy tries he had become completely used to sleeping away the mornings. Doing a nine-to-five job sounded impossible to him... besides, he always figured he would look horrible in a suit. Not that the bartender outfit looked much better on him in his own opinion.

Kiyoshi didn't have any hobbies as of now, unless one considered occasionally fishing out that old Gibson, tuning it till it sounded okay and strumming its tired strings for a couple of minutes an actual hobby. Kiyoshi didn't consider it one and wouldn't speak of it to anyone, not even his colleagues at work.

Then again, there was this other thing he did more and more often nowadays, but he wasn't sure what to call this newfound interest - in a person. Kiyoshi was never much for having friends. He had been closest to his adoptive little sister, 'Riri' (originally Lilynette, she was a foreign orphan somehow forgotten in the country when she was around two years old), but today even that consisted only of the occasional text message (in caps on Riri's side) and awkward call.

However, recently he has discovered a man who lived in the building right next to his own. Kiyoshi wondered if solitude had driven him mad in the end because he had yet to find the reason behind his sudden interest in the person. And quite truthfully, he didn't even know anything about the man just yet.

But there he was. Kiyoshi leant against the frame of his window, peering down at the street below from the rain-spotted glass. A young man exited the neighboring building and Kiyoshi caught sight of oddly silver hair and a (rather sickly) pale face with grey-tinted glasses obscuring the eyes before a large, black umbrella was opened - or more fumbled open - and the man began walking down the street. Kiyoshi watched the man pass his building, the steps always measured and rhythmic, a long, warm black coat wrapped around the person's tall frame, accented by a white scarf that Kiyoshi found almost unnecessarily posh.

The microwave let out a loud 'ping!' noise and Kiyoshi startled from where he stood watching the rush of traffic below, the pavement empty of pedestrians. Sighing - he did it far too often - he moved to get his food from the oven and sit down by the far too tiny dinner table to eat it. The food couldn't distract him too much with its bland flavors or the lack of them, actually, so he found himself pondering.

The Man Next Door was probably younger than him, Kiyoshi had already gauged that. At first he figured he must be some sort of office worker, or the head of some department at a company from his choice of clothes and the glasses, but that was definitely proved wrong by the eccentric hours the Man Next Door left his home. Sometimes he would leave as early as seven in the morning and Kiyoshi saw that only if he stayed up after getting home from work. And then other times he would leave as late as five in the afternoon, like just now. And there were even days when he wouldn't leave at all, Kiyoshi was certain. Besides, sometimes he would leave by car, a silver Honda Civic now resting in one of the building's parking spots. It was a handsome car that was always clean and well-kept, but the Man Next Door used it understandably rarely, considering Kizuna traffic in the mornings and afternoons.

Enough about all that musing. It was making his head hurt and besides, he had work in less than an hour.

Kiyoshi placed down his chopsticks and threw the plastic box of the food into the dustbin under the sink. Mournfully, he noted that the box bounced off of the rest of the trash already piling a mountain in the small bin, so he crouched with a weary groan and fished it out, shoving it into the mess with a decided motion. Then he tugged the more-than-full trash bag out of the can, tied its mouth closed then trotted out and over to the depositor to let the black bag have a merry slide down. He waited for the quiet thud at the end then went back inside to wash his hands at the sink. Blinking down at the empty trashcan, he groaned in exasperation and bent down to rummage around in the counter. Eventually triumphant, he emerged with the roll of black bags and bumped his head on the wooden lining of the counter. "Shit..." He growled out loud involuntarily, rubbing the offended spot before dealing with putting the bag into the dustbin. Finally done with the tedious ordeal, he very maturely wiped his hands on his faded blue jeans and walked the couple of steps leading to his wardrobe to fish out his uniform for work.

He tossed the clean white shirt, black slacks and vest onto the futon then stripped his clothes and simply in his birthday-suit, he went to shower. He stole an uninterested glance at the mirror on the way and scowled at the thought of having to shave soon; it was such a hassle.

He got into the cubicle that always left him with a cramped feeling and ran the hot water, soaped himself, washed his hair, rinsed and didn't bother with anything more because anything more was really unnecessary. Kiyoshi grabbed a towel off the rack and wiped himself clean with a couple of rubs, finishing off with his brown hair that was really a god damn nuisance for being so long, but going to a hairdresser's was even more of a nuisance, so he just had to deal.

Still not wearing more than the towel on top of his head, he went to his bedroom. Finally, he grabbed up a pair of clean white underwear and pulled them on, as well as a white undershirt and black socks. His hair was still damp and the wavy tresses tickled the back of his neck annoyingly, so he was again considering cutting it but he still found the idea of going to a hairdresser's tedious.

He put on the shirt, scowling his mouth at the buttons like always, his furrowed brows drawing a shadow over his steely grey eyes. After a bit of struggle he managed to button up the cuffs as well as the 'chokebutton' at the very top. He pulled on the slacks, slipped a black leather belt into the hoops and pulled it firmly around his waist, buckling it before putting on and buttoning the vest too. He looked warily at the bowtie hanging lonely on a hook on the inside of his wardrobe's door then picked it up and for whichever reason he felt his cheeks heat up awkwardly as he clasped it around his throat and fitted it into the proper position. Honestly, though... it felt like a collar!

Kiyoshi glanced at the clock on the wall and noted it was a quarter to six. He picked up his wallet, keys and phone from his tiny bedside table, looked around in the small room then got his black shoes and tan trenchcoat on. He went back for an umbrella after exiting once; then he locked the door, checked if it was indeed locked and walked down the stairs (Why couldn't they install an elevator already? If trash could slide down without having to climb stairs, why did he need to climb stairs?) and out of the building.

He opened the umbrella upon stepping out and glancing down at the soaked pavement he sourly noted he would have to rub his shoes clean once he got to the bar. Although, maybe he could get away with it. After all, nobody stared at his feet?

The air was stuffy outside, humid with the smell of wet asphalt lingering and no wind disrupting the rain's steady flow. Kiyoshi's still damp scalp felt somewhat chilly and he once more reminded himself not to wash his hair just before leaving because a cool head was really no advantage at all. He flipped the collar of his coat up in hopes of protecting at least the back of his neck from the uncomfortable cold of the late april weather, but it didn't help very much.

Thankfully, it wouldn't be more than a five-minute walk down to the bar which was in the cellar of a proud, old building, recently renovated. The place had been closed down once after a big fight broke out over some young waitress as Kiyoshi heard from his colleagues. But only a couple of months later it was reopened by a new owner, re-furnished and cleverly renamed from its old tacky title 'Queen's Cellar' (written in Japanese kanji) to 'Ring 110'*****. Although Kiyoshi didn't really find the new name all that funny, it was a good story to tell new customers when they looked bored with just about anything. Everyone liked a story about fights.

A couple of yards along the way, Kiyoshi stepped onto something that dug painfully into the sole of his shoe. Cursing softly, he took a step back and bent down to pick the thing up. It was a key hanging from a miniature Eiffel-tower keychain. He looked around but saw no one out in the streets with the rain getting worse by the minute. Then who...?

With sudden anxiety, Kiyoshi stared at the key and keychain resting on his palm again. It's been a considerably long time since he passed here, but what if... what if the keychain belonged to the Man Next Door?!

TBC in next chapter?

*****As far as I know, 110 is the number for police in Japan.


End file.
